


Before the World Collapses

by Hexate (oppressa)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, Family Dynamics, Growing Up Together, M/M, Mythology References, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, Semicolon abuse, That's just how I roll, Totally over the top, cliche fest, love-hate relationship, would you like cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/Hexate
Summary: Ivar/Hvitserk, 50 sentences
Relationships: Hvitserk & Ivar (Vikings), Hvitserk/Ivar (Vikings)
Kudos: 10





	1. Set Order

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts from the old 1sentence fic community on Livejournal, theme set Delta.

_Air_

The tension is so thick between Ubbe and Ivar after the Saxons fail to retake York that you could cut the air with a knife, he's honestly worried he's going to suffocate in the middle of them.

_Apples_

On the voyage back to England, he wants to ask Ivar if he has ever been visited by the Gods, especially in that manner, but it feels too personal a question, his nostrils still filled with the sweet scent of apples.

_Beginning_

“What do you think it was that made them decide to begin weaving our fates together?” Ivar puts to him, referring to Urd, Skuld and Verdandi, “They must have had some reason behind why it has to be you and me.”

_Bugs_

Ivar entertained himself by crushing insects on the ground while his healthy older brothers rolled around fighting, as if he didn't take sides, not even when Hvitserk was being thrashed by Sigurd, imagining it was his fairest brother's head he was hitting with the rock.

_Coffee_ \- [Modern AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198943)

_Dark_

He decides he'll be generous in letting Hvitserk get near the Christian, meaning he overhears him whispering _if it were up to me you'd be strangling in these,_ hunching to pick up the links of his chain, pulling them tight in his fists so he gets the gist, eyes inviting him to go on and try, and feels the power coursing through his veins that they both know the only thing restraining him is Ivar.

_Despair_

The closest he comes to despair is surely when Bjorn tells him his real fate; for a couple of overwhelming moments he finally felt free, he forgot everything enthralled in the light of Valhalla, the gods called for him and he was happy for it to be the last thing in this life - except of course it was too beautiful, too perfect, like Thora was; they couldn't possibly have allowed him to die like that.  
  
  


_Doors_

It seems like all the doors in the palace are shut on him, meanwhile his brother is unreachable, senses dulled by some smouldering seeds in a shallow bowl, lured away from him by some no-doubt empty promises intended to appeal to his thirst for conflict, and just perhaps enjoying this, to have the upper hand, for once, to turn the tables, to pay him back for everything he did.

_Drink_

It was fun when they got drunk as long as Hvitserk was in a good mood, otherwise the roaring and the shouting and the fuming at him could be tiresome after a while, but the times he spent looking at him through huge pupils with his head tilted back listening to his every word are among Ivar's fondest memories of him.

_Duty_

It's ingrained in him to be mindful of Ivar, to watch out for him, make sure he's not in immediate danger of breaking any bones, however bitterly he wishes it wasn't when his skin is itching with fresh humiliation from another joke at his expense.

_Earth_

His brother is caked in mud, having been kicked deep in the knees and brought down, though he got up even as Ivar motioned their archers to let loose at the soldiers standing over him, and now he's getting it on him as they embrace, ecstatic to have killed so many.

_End_

All that matters is that Ivar's dying afraid, all he cares about is to hold onto him and comfort him for as long as possible, not if the whole battlefield is watching, if the Valkyries are gathering to take his brother away; the only thing he can focus on is how Ivar feels still breathing in his arms and how much he loves him.

_Fall_

He has a vague recollection of an incident when Hvitserk dislodged his shoulderbone falling out of a tree and Ubbe brought him back to their mother - he screamed in white hot pain when she yanked it back in, trying not to cry in front of her, turning away; Ivar, of course, received a lot more sympathy and didn't cry except in anger, didn't scream apart from in dulled agony, _not again_.

_Fire_

He didn't want to get close enough to see the flames reflected in Ivar's eyes as the body of the sacrifice everybody must know is not Lagertha burns, _because you've surpassed yourself with this, Ivar, you crazy fucking shit._

_Flexible_

Ivar doesn't give him the credit that he might not change his mind about being on his side again if the opportunity presents itself, as if the decision to betray him was easy and not more to do with being forced to bend his sense of integrity so much he was going to break anyway.

_Flying_

He's nervous about their plan for tomorrow and he doesn't have a lot of time for his brother right now but he manages to make him laugh with some sarcastic remark that he'll miss the chariot, the feeling of leaping off it into battle, and unfortunately the cart isn't going to provide him with quite the same sensation.

_Food_

He listens with one ear to Igor explaining fasting to Hvitserk, who is amused at first, then, eyebrows raised he turns with mounting concern and asks “we're not actually going to have to do that, Ivar, are we?”

_Foot_

At the time nothing could have felt more satisfying than his foot colliding with Ivar's face, kicking him in the ribs; later, when he's struggling to get up, clutching his side with his eye all red and swollen, he's absolutely disgusted with himself, at the damage he did.

_Grave_

He always takes his cross off when he visits Ivar's grave, hangs it on a branch before he sits and sinks his fingers into the earth around the mound, knowing that Ivar didn't want a funeral pyre, he wanted to be buried, wants to be found, to live again, and _one day, my brother, you will_.

_Green_

Hvitserk's eyes are green, not bright green like the fields of England but dark like its shaded woods dappled in sunlight, the brown-veined leaves falling from the trees, ash and elm.

_Head_

He isn't sure when it was that he became resigned to not being able to get Ivar out of his head, having hated him for so long, the intense obsession replaced with a deep sense of gratitude, familiarity, concern, and above all foreboding when he sees him leaning so heavily on his crutch.

_Hollow_

He doesn't know what's more worrying, Hvitserk having been blown into him in this freezing wind with his collarbones showing over the top of his ragged shirt, or the fact that this was allowed this to happen, or that it falls to Ivar, formerly his sworn mortal enemy, to do something about it.

_Honor_

He's not exactly holding his breath waiting for Hvitserk to promise him anything, but when he asks him after their final departure from Kiev if it's too much to expect that he won't turn on him again, the look his brother gives him is enough to shut him up.

_Hope_

It's so odd that a matter of months ago the one thing sustaining him was the thought that _maybe one day you'll hunt Ivar down and stick a knife through his heart, and this will all be over._

_Light_

Ivar likes to wake first in the mornings after they stayed with each other all night, as all it takes is to brush a finger across his stomach or down his neck or just about anywhere on him so softly and Hvitserk will moan and turn into him instantly, hips twitching, desperate to press their bodies together in an even barely-perceptive state.

_Lost_

Hvitserk admits he got accustomed to that same feeling of being lost long ago, although having chosen to come out of the hall and sit with him, Ivar thinks, _you know you belong with me, so is the alternative really that hard to grasp_.

_Metal_

He was persuaded to give his arm ring away like it was another piece of unprized metal; Ivar would probably rather have parted with the braces that encased his legs than with his.

_New_

It's not new any more, to have Hvitserk take his place beside him in front of their forces, yet it's still as if everything is right with the world like that, no less thrilling every single time.

_Old_

He thinks he could have made a move before Ubbe – maybe not the same one – if the old bastard hadn't picked on him first, while Ivar snickered at their feet, and now he finds it so ironic that Ivar was both their father's and their mother's favoured child, in the end.

_Peace_

He wonders if what he feels when he kneels at the altar is what Ubbe wanted to have, and if he has that now, wherever he is, what Ivar could never stomach, Hvitserk's own desire to keep fighting gone with him.

_Poison_

Just one small sin, Oleg says, sure, he knows he should still refuse – but he's so uncomfortable, out of his depth, not being at all smart like Ivar would be in this situation, and besides, he might not even like it.

_Pretty_

He hopes to the gods he imagined Oleg gently brushing his face with his knuckles, remarking mistakenly “it's a shame about those war wounds” to someone else in the room, and having this ridiculous thought that only Ivar is allowed to touch his scars, but whatever was said his hands just lay at his sides, uselessly trembling.

_Rain_

_I thought she was Ivar_ , is his only defence, apart from the other one that this was all foretold, that she murdered their mother in cold blood with an arrow in the back and it was only right, this is what he was always meant to do.

_Regret_

After Hvitserk shares his valuable opinion of how their oldest brother is impossible to kill, Ivar waits till they're by themselves again to catch him by the arm and snarl “You still respect Bjorn? You _still_ love Ubbe, after what they did?”; Hvitserk snatches it away and throws back in his face “don't you?”

_Roses_

He keeps fiddling with the string of beads he tore off the nun's dress, wondering why anyone would wear such a plain adornment on their waist, finally dropping them to the flagstones and forgetting about it when Ivar screws up his face and says, “get rid of that thing, Hvitserk.”

_Secret_

He never tells Hvitserk about Oleg fucking Katia on the table in front of him, for fear of what he would do, because he can quite clearly see him taking leave of his senses for long enough to cause them a problem beyond Ivar's control, a disturbance they definitely don't need.

_Snakes_

“How would you really like to die, brother?” Ivar asks, “so that I can have it arranged one day,” and without missing a beat Hvitserk snaps “just leave the snake pit out of it, Ivar.”

_Snow_

He stops walking abruptly under the constantly-falling snow, his thoughts suddenly with Hvitserk, whose voice he last heard furiously calling out his name, as if something has happened, something he should realise the significance of.

_Solid_

Perhaps there is a part of him that's jealous of the bond Ivar forged with their father, annoyed that he was so far away while Ivar was there for Ragnar's last days, that he obviously felt at least some kind of connection with his youngest son.

_Spring_

Hvitserk still wears his furs well into the year, hunched up inside them because he hates the cold – _by Hel's rotten teeth, aren't you cold like that, Ivar?_ – now more than ever before.

_Stable_

He hates the glares his brother will cast at him from the front benches sometimes, the sullen stares that confront him with the fact he isn't impressed, that you couldn't pay him to entertain the idea Ivar is special.

_Strange_

Hvitserk says some strange things about his time wandering alone through the forest delirious with hunger, like he felt that his mind was somehow separated from his body, telling stories of seeing things Ivar can believe he really thinks he saw at any rate.

_Summer_

One summer they would go to the lake almost every day and it was Hvitserk who would stay with him and watch the others swimming until he eventually got in, claiming he was fed up with Ubbe trying to drag him under.

_Taboo_

Something broke down completely between them now they have no one but each other, with Hvitserk's gaze lingering on him for longer than absolutely necessary, perhaps trying to judge whether Ivar would still accuse Sigurd of what he's been open to doing with him since he showed himself to be the only one willing to accept his leadership, whose instincts truly aligned with his.

_Ugly_

All the life drains out of him at being told _he asked me if I wanted to have you killed;_ he doesn't know how to get out _sorry I'm not as strong as you are_ , so he covers his hot, ugly embarrassment with the cold rage that Ivar has saved his neck yet again, not knowing if it's even worth it for him anymore.

_War_

It's not often he finds himself apprehensive with Ubbe, still it goes against everything he believes in to accompany him to the Saxon camp, thinking _Ivar is right_ , the right course is always, always war.

_Water_

Hvitserk wakes only once or twice on the journey to the Rus, and finding Ivar still by his side, looking out at the water, goes straight back to sleep.

_Welcome_

“That was fun,” he says, out of the corner of his mouth, about their reception at the harbour; Ivar smiles and replies “as if any of them could have done what it took for us to survive.”

_Winter_

“It'll pass,” Ivar tells him on the battlements of Kiev, flicking at the icicles stuck on the curlices, “we'll see our own homeland again soon”; he nods and smiles and narrows his eyes at the thought _that'll be interesting, I was never supposed to come out the other side._

_Wood_

He goes after Ivar hobbling away from their camp, knowing full well he's in pain, and gets to him resting on a tree stump with his axe balancing on his knees in a clearing like the place where they once practised against each other in Kattegat; his brother doesn't look up until he's close, hiding a smirk, and when he is within the correct length of distance to fight he says “Go on.”


	2. Chronological Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably not completely exact but I just thought they might be easier to read like this (and it makes for more of a story :))

_Fall_

He has a vague recollection of an incident when Hvitserk dislodged his shoulderbone falling out of a tree and Ubbe brought him back to their mother - he screamed in white hot pain when she yanked it back in, trying not to cry in front of her, turning away; Ivar, of course, received a lot more sympathy and didn't cry except in anger, didn't scream apart from in dulled agony, _not again_.

_Bugs_

Ivar entertained himself by crushing insects on the ground while his healthy older brothers rolled around fighting, as if he didn't take sides, not even when Hvitserk was being thrashed by Sigurd, imagining it was his fairest brother's head he was hitting with the rock.  
  
  


_Summer_

One summer they would go to the lake almost every day and it was Hvitserk who would stay with him and watch the others swimming until he eventually got in, claiming he was fed up with Ubbe trying to drag him under.  
  
  


_Old_

He thinks he could have made a move before Ubbe – maybe not the same one – if the old bastard hadn't picked on him first, while Ivar snickered at their feet, and now he finds it so ironic that Ivar was both their father's and their mother's favoured child, in the end.  
  
  


_Solid_

Perhaps there is a part of him that's jealous of the bond Ivar forged with their father, annoyed that he was so far away while Ivar was there for Ragnar's last days, that he obviously felt at least some kind of connection with his youngest son.  
  


_  
Roses_

He keeps fiddling with the string of beads he tore off the nun's dress, wondering why anyone would wear such a plain adornment on their waist, finally dropping them to the flagstones and forgetting about it when Ivar screws up his face and says, “get rid of that thing, Hvitserk.”

_Air_

The tension is so thick between Ubbe and Ivar after the Saxons fail to retake York that you could cut the air with a knife, he's honestly worried he's going to suffocate in the middle of them.  
  
  


_War_

It's not often he finds himself apprehensive with Ubbe, still it goes against everything he believes in to accompany him to the Saxon camp, thinking _Ivar is right_ , the right course is always, always war.

_Duty_

It's ingrained in him to be mindful of Ivar, to watch out for him, make sure he's not in immediate danger of breaking any bones, however bitterly he wishes it wasn't when his skin is itching with fresh humiliation from another joke at his expense.

_Dark_

He decides he'll be generous in letting Hvitserk get near the Christian, meaning he overhears him whispering _if it were up to me you'd be strangling in these,_ hunching to pick up the links of his chain, pulling them tight in his fists so he gets the gist, eyes inviting him to go on and try, and feels the power coursing through his veins that they both know the only thing restraining him is Ivar.

_Fire_

He didn't want to get close enough to see the flames reflected in Ivar's eyes as the body of the sacrifice everybody must know is not Lagertha burns, _because you've surpassed yourself with this, Ivar, you crazy fucking shit._

_Stable_

He hates the glares his brother will cast at him from the front benches sometimes, the sullen stares that confront him with the fact he isn't impressed, that you couldn't pay him to entertain the idea Ivar is special.  
  
  


_Snakes_

“How would you really like to die, brother?” Ivar asks, “so that I can have it arranged one day,” and without missing a beat Hvitserk snaps “just leave the snake pit out of it, Ivar.”  
  


_  
Snow_

He stops walking abruptly under the constantly-falling snow, his thoughts suddenly with Hvitserk, whose voice he last heard furiously calling out his name, as if something has happened, something he should realise the significance of.

_  
  
Rain_

_I thought she was Ivar_ , is his only defence, apart from the other one that this was all foretold, that she murdered their mother in cold blood with an arrow in the back and it was only right, this is what he was always meant to do.

_Despair_

The closest he comes to despair is surely when Bjorn tells him his real fate; for a couple of overwhelming moments he finally felt free, he forgot everything enthralled in the light of Valhalla, the gods called for him and he was happy for it to be the last thing in this life - except of course it was too beautiful, too perfect, like Thora was; they couldn't possibly have allowed him to die like that.

_  
  
Hollow_

He doesn't know what's more worrying, Hvitserk having been blown into him in this freezing wind with his collarbones showing over the top of his ragged shirt, or the fact that this was allowed this to happen, or that it falls to Ivar, formerly his sworn mortal enemy, to do something about it.  
  
  


_Water_

Hvitserk wakes only once or twice on the journey to the Rus, and finding Ivar still by his side, looking out at the water, goes straight back to sleep.  
  


_  
Strange_

Hvitserk says some strange things about his time wandering alone through the forest delirious with hunger, like he felt that his mind was somehow separated from his body, telling stories of seeing things Ivar can believe he really thinks he saw at any rate.

_Hope_

It's so odd that a matter of months ago the one thing sustaining him was the thought that _maybe one day you'll hunt Ivar down and stick a knife through his heart, and this will all be over.  
_

_Food_

He listens with one ear to Igor explaining fasting to Hvitserk, who is amused at first, then, eyebrows raised he turns with mounting concern and asks “we're not actually going to have to do that, Ivar, are we?”  
  


_  
Taboo_

Something broke down completely between them now they have no one but each other, with Hvitserk's gaze lingering on him for longer than absolutely necessary, perhaps trying to judge whether Ivar would still accuse Sigurd of what he's been open to doing with him since he showed himself to be the only one willing to accept his leadership, whose instincts truly aligned with his.  
  


_  
Secret_

He never tells Hvitserk about Oleg fucking Katia on the table in front of him, for fear of what he would do, because he can quite clearly see him taking leave of his senses for long enough to cause them a problem beyond Ivar's control, a disturbance they definitely don't need.  
  


_  
Light_

Ivar likes to wake first in the mornings after they stayed with each other all night, as all it takes is to brush a finger across his stomach or down his neck or just about anywhere on him so softly and Hvitserk will moan and turn into him instantly, hips twitching, desperate to press their bodies together in an even barely-perceptive state.  
  


_  
Winter_

“It'll pass,” Ivar tells him on the battlements of Kiev, flicking at the icicles stuck on the curlices, “we'll see our own homeland again soon”; he nods and smiles and narrows his eyes at the thought _that'll be interesting, I was never supposed to come out the other side.  
  
  
_

_Drink_

It was fun when they got drunk as long as Hvitserk was in a good mood, otherwise the roaring and the shouting and the fuming at him could be tiresome after a while, but the times he spent looking at him through huge pupils with his head tilted back listening to his every word are among Ivar's fondest memories of him.  
  
  


_Regret_

After Hvitserk shares his valuable opinion of how their oldest brother is impossible to kill, Ivar waits till they're by themselves again to catch him by the arm and snarl “You still respect Bjorn? You _still_ love Ubbe, after what they did?”; Hvitserk snatches it away and throws back in his face “don't you?”  
  
  


_Poison_

Just one small sin, Oleg says, sure, he knows he should still refuse – but he's so uncomfortable, out of his depth, not being at all smart like Ivar would be in this situation, and besides, he might not even like it.

_Pretty_

He hopes to the gods he imagined Oleg gently brushing his face with his knuckles, remarking mistakenly “it's a shame about those war wounds” to someone else in the room, and having this ridiculous thought that only Ivar is allowed to touch his scars, but whatever was said his hands just lay at his sides, uselessly trembling.  
  
  


_Doors_

It seems like all the doors in the palace are shut on him, meanwhile his brother is unreachable, senses dulled by some smouldering seeds in a shallow bowl, lured away from him by some no-doubt empty promises intended to appeal to his thirst for conflict, and just perhaps enjoying this, to have the upper hand, for once, to turn the tables, to pay him back for everything he did.

_  
  
Flexible_

Ivar doesn't give him the credit that he might not change his mind about being on his side again if the opportunity presents itself, as if the decision to betray him was easy and not more to do with being forced to bend his sense of integrity so much he was going to break anyway.  
  
_  
  
Foot_

At the time nothing could have felt more satisfying than his foot colliding with Ivar's face, kicking him in the ribs; later, when he's struggling to get up, clutching his side with his eye all red and swollen, he's absolutely disgusted with himself, at the damage he did.  
  
  


_Ugly_

All the life drains out of him at being told _he asked me if I wanted to have you killed;_ he doesn't know how to get out _sorry I'm not as strong as you are_ , so he covers his hot, ugly embarrassment with the cold rage that Ivar has saved his neck yet again, not knowing if it's even worth it for him anymore.  
  
  


_Flying_

He's nervous about their plan for tomorrow and he doesn't have a lot of time for his brother right now but he manages to make him laugh with some sarcastic remark that he'll miss the chariot, the feeling of leaping off it into battle, and unfortunately the cart isn't going to provide him with quite the same sensation.  
  


_  
Honor_

He's not exactly holding his breath waiting for Hvitserk to promise him anything, but when he asks him after their final departure from Kiev if it's too much to expect that he won't turn on him again, the look his brother gives him is enough to shut him up.

_Welcome_

“That was fun,” he says, out of the corner of his mouth, about their reception at the harbour; Ivar smiles and replies “as if any of them could have done what it took for us to survive.”

_  
  
Lost_

Hvitserk admits he got accustomed to that same feeling of being lost long ago, although having chosen to come out of the hall and sit with him, Ivar thinks, _you know you belong with me, so is the alternative really that hard to grasp_.  
  


_  
Apples_

On the voyage back to England, he wants to ask Ivar if he has ever been visited by the Gods, especially in that manner, but it feels too personal a question, his nostrils still filled with the sweet scent of apples.  
  
  


_Spring_

Hvitserk still wears his furs well into the year, hunched up inside them because he hates the cold – _by Hel's rotten teeth, aren't you cold like that, Ivar?_ – now more than ever before.  
  
  


_Head_

He isn't sure when it was that he became resigned to not being able to get Ivar out of his head, having hated him for so long, the intense obsession replaced with a deep sense of gratitude, familiarity, concern, and above all foreboding when he sees him leaning so heavily on his crutch.

_Beginning_

“What do you think it was that made them decide to begin weaving our fates together?” Ivar puts to him, referring to Urd, Skuld and Verdandi, “They must have had some reason behind why it has to be you and me.”  
  
  


_Green_

Hvitserk's eyes are green, not bright green like the fields of England but dark like its shaded woods dappled in sunlight, the brown-veined leaves falling from the trees, ash and elm.  
  
  


_Earth_

His brother is caked in mud, having been kicked deep in the knees and brought down, though he got up even as Ivar motioned their archers to let loose at the soldiers standing over him, and now he's getting it on him as they embrace, ecstatic to have killed so many.  
  
  
_  
Wood_

He goes after Ivar hobbling away from their camp, knowing full well he's in pain, and gets to him resting on a tree stump with his axe balancing on his knees in a clearing like the place where they once practised against each other in Kattegat; his brother doesn't look up until he's close, hiding a smirk, and when he is within the correct length of distance to fight he says “Go on.”  
  
  


_New_

It's not new any more, to have Hvitserk take his place beside him in front of their forces, yet it's still as if everything is right with the world like that, no less thrilling every single time.

_  
  
End_

All that matters is that Ivar's dying afraid, all he cares about is to hold onto him and comfort him for as long as possible, not if the whole battlefield is watching, if the Valkyries are gathering to take his brother away; the only thing he can focus on is how Ivar feels still breathing in his arms and how much he loves him.  
  
  


_Metal_

He was persuaded to give his arm ring away like it was another piece of unprized metal; Ivar would probably rather have parted with the braces that encased his legs than with his.

_  
  
Peace_

He wonders if what he feels when he kneels at the altar is what Ubbe wanted to have, and if he has that now, wherever he is, what Ivar could never stomach, Hvitserk's own desire to keep fighting gone with him.

_  
  
Grave_

He always takes his cross off when he visits Ivar's grave, hangs it on a branch before he sits and sinks his fingers into the earth around the mound, knowing that Ivar didn't want a funeral pyre, he wanted to be buried, wants to be found, to live again, and _one day, my brother, you will_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from part of the Voluspa poem about Ragnarok that was quoted by Floki at some point, back in Paris? Damn this has been a hell of a long show!
> 
> “Brothers will fight and kill each other,  
> Sisters' children shall sin together;  
> It is harsh in the world, whoredom rife  
> An axe age, a sword age, shields shall be broken  
> a wind age, a wolf age, before the world collapses  
> No man shall spare the other.”


End file.
